


so where are my flowers?

by crispytins



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, flower giving, so much flower symbolism that it hurts my soul, this is stupidly fluffy from start to finish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 04:18:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19738165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crispytins/pseuds/crispytins
Summary: Arthur is besotted with Merlin, but he can't properly express his emotions in words. So, Arthur doesn't speak: instead, he sends flowers.[In which Arthur is an idiot, Gaius is the only smart one left, and Merlin is blissfully oblivious and drowning in flowers.]





	so where are my flowers?

**Author's Note:**

> insp. by that one “enchanted” song abt sending your lovers flowers on a cloudy day :>
> 
> also! some lovely art by @iovitus on twitter [here](http://twitter.com/iovitus/status/1148823363495825408)

Arthur rested upon his sheets, hands still upon his chest as the starlight danced across the floor. 

Although everyone else in the castle was surely fast asleep, the king could find no solace in rest. Several times he squeezed his eyes shut and prayed for rest, but it refused him. His body was very much so awake, and it would be an understatement to say Arthur was less than pleased.

Because he wasn’t particularly worried about anything, wasn’t beseeched by death or wrestling with a problem. No, no. 

He was thinking about _Merlin_ , of all things. 

In the past, his servant had been a topic that occupied his mind for only a mild percentage of the time; but now he was a mantra, tripping about in his mind like an infinite tune. 

Merlin, Merlin, Merlin. The curl of his hair, the curve of his lips, the cadence of his voice...the glints of copper that flecked his eyes. 

To be perfectly honest, his servant was an enigma. Always saying he was in the tavern, despite Arthur’s friends never seeing him inside. Despite having no obligation to do so, charging into the heat of the battle with nothing more than his name and honor. In that sense, it made him endearing; really, really endearing. 

“Merlin,” Arthur murmured, the name safe in his mouth, rolling off his tongue like a spell. He mumbled incomprehensibly to himself, cocooning himself in his blankets and making a mental note to see Gaius first thing in the morning. Because there was no explanation for it, for why a tall, clumsy man was all that he could seem to focus on anymore. 

Maybe Arthur was just sick. Yes, that must be it. Gaius could fix this. 

Part of him remained annoyed as the night drew on because this just seemed to prove that _nothing_ was safe from Merlin. 

Not Arthur’s heart, not his mind. Nothing. 

“I’m going to kill him,” Arthur decided, punching his pillow with newfound gusto, “unless he kills me first.” 

\--

True to his own word, Arthur sent himself down to Gaius’ chambers the next morning, anticipating a quick synopsis, treatment, and instructions for administering medicine before letting him go. However, this all quickly fell through once the old man heard the so-called ‘symptoms’ from which Arthur suffered.

“There’s no medicine I can prescribe, Sire,” Gaius said tiredly, settling into his bench, “because there is nothing the matter with you.” 

“Surely there’s something you can do!” Arthur made an impatient noise. “I can hardly function without Merlin as it is, and now he seems to be haunting me even whilst I try to sleep! The nerve of him,” he added, scowling at the last part. As if this was somehow _Merlin’s_ fault. 

The physician only shook his head in exasperation, pointing to the door. 

“I have other matters to attend to right now, Arthur. You’re physically undamaged, and mentally you seem stable, so there isn’t anything else I can do for you.”

“Maybe I’m enchanted!” Arthur protested, ignoring him. Yes, of course! Magic could very well be the reason for this whole ordeal. 

“Highly unlikely,” Gaius said politely, flipping through a book at random, making a mild attempt to block out the young king. 

A weary, defeated stammer left Arthur’s mouth in a rush. “You must have a clue for what’s the matter with me! Please, he’s driving me mad!” He had a council session to attend, and all he could think about was the shudder that had gone down his spine when Merlin had changed him mere hours earlier. 

The old physician looked up slowly, eyebrow arching. “Driving you mad?” he repeated. 

“I haven’t been able to get him out of my mind,” Arthur groaned, carding fingers through his unruly bedhead. “It’s happened before if I’m to come clean about it, but this is the first time it’s been a real nuisance.” 

_Happened before?_

Gaius absorbed the information, settling at last on a verdict that aligned with years worth of suspicions. Sighing, he put on his half-moon spectacles, studying Arthur’s distraught face.

“How long has this been going on for?” 

Arthur shrugged helplessly. “Two years? Three? I don’t know,” and he was pacing around the benches now, looking the epitome of madness as he gestured madly with his hands, “but it’s been a recurring thing, and well, maybe I should have consulted you earlier, because could this be a forever sort of thing? Am I cursed? Is it a disease?” He gasped. “Maybe I’m dying,” he whispered faintly, eyes as wide as saucers. 

Approaching the king slowly, Gaius held up a finger and spoke, in that frighteningly composed way he always did. “My Lord, if I may be frank, this is a sickness I myself am quite familiar with.”

Arthur paled. “Gods above, what is it?” Oh, he was definitely dying. 

Gaius removed his spectacles, wiping them on his robes. “Well, from the sound of it, this is a common case of infatuation.” 

“In...in what manner?” Arthur asked haltingly. 

Gaius only blinked. “I think you already know.” 

Arthur’s fingers paused along his slackened jaw, his mind whirling until it stopped, settling on one singular thought that made him almost fall.

“Romantic feelings. For _Merlin.”_ There was a sheepish pause before Arthur realized that Gaius was smiling gently at the panic in his face and its very unkingly shade of red. “Gaius, please tell me you’re joking.” 

“I’m merely sending my thoughts into the open. Whether they have any sustenance to them is entirely up to you to decide.” 

“Of course they don’t!” Arthur blurted out wildly, butterfly wings thrumming in his ribcage. “To think of courting Merlin is just..” He stopped short. Saying such words out loud should’ve sent him volleying into a roaring laugh; but instead, something light and hesitant bloomed from within him, almost daring him to consider the idea. 

_Courting Merlin,_ Arthur repeated silently, stunned at the pleasant swelling in his chest at the thought. 

“Just breathe, Sire,” Gaius instructed gently, leading Arthur onto a small bench. “Just think about it. No need to say anything.”

Long, yawning minutes passed while Arthur stewed in his thoughts, muttering gibberish to himself and occasionally shaking his head, until he hung his head in resignation at the clanging of the noon bell an hour later. Because, as ridiculous as the sentiment sounded, it made a strange amount of sense. Being in love with Merlin was, as Arthur considered more and more seriously, not all that insane of an idea. 

“But it’s so...” Arthur muttered weakly, wringing his hands. “Why Merlin of all people?”

“Why not?” Gaius asked. “He’s been your most trusted confidant for almost ten years. It isn’t hard to believe that, in all the time you’ve spent together, such feelings would arise.” 

“But...I don’t know what to do with them.” Bonding and lingering glances could amount to love; Arthur didn’t doubt that for a second. There was no question that he had an undying sort of devotion towards Merlin, something that could also fall into the latter. But to formally act upon those feelings, to voice how he truly felt, was another thing entirely. (He had the grace to look slightly embarrassed at how blind he’d been.) 

“What if he doesn’t feel the same way?” Arthur wondered aloud. 

Gaius laughed. He declined to mention that, in all of his years as a member of Camelot’s court, there had never been such an inseparable pair of servant and master, and that he knew Merlin better than himself; Merlin was indisputably in love with Arthur. This was not up for debate. 

“You won’t know unless you try.”

“But I’m rubbish with words!” 

“My Lord, who said anything about using words?”

\-- 

When Merlin awoke the next morning, there were flowers in his room. There was no note, no clues as to who had sent them - only the blossoms neatly wrapped up in kitchen twine, waiting to be picked up. 

“Snapdragons,” Merlin muttered in disbelief, staring at the elegant folds of the white flowers sitting on his cupboard. “These can’t be real. There’s no one who would’ve...” 

With a careful hand, he maneuvered his fingers across the smooth, matte surface of the stems, feeling their hardiness, and then the supple cushion of each gently curved petal.

No doubt they came from the highest vendor with such exquisite quality, or from an excessively pricey market. “No, wait. These came from the royal gardens,” Merlin realized out loud. “Freshly picked, too.” 

“You’re sure you don’t have the slightest clue as to who they’re from?” Gaius asked, a smile tugging on his lips. He stood in Merlin’s doorway, arms crossed.

Merlin could hear it, the teasing lilt of the old man’s voice, and _groaned_. 

“You know, don’t you?” he demanded. 

Gaius only shrugged. “I don’t know any more than you do.” 

“Rubbish,” Merlin snorted. 

The day got even stranger when, upon arriving with the rest of the knights in the courtyard, Arthur was curiously quiet, eyes flicking to Merlin every so often as if awaiting something from him. To his dismay, nothing came. Only when Merlin ran over to remove his armor and tend to his wounds when they finished did the king finally speak. 

“So,” Arthur began, the paragon of being casual, “how was your morning?” 

Merlin paused in his unfastening, leaning across Arthur’s shoulders with a suspicious glare. “Why do you care?” 

“Just curious,” Arthur shrugged, ordering himself to not blush under any circumstances. 

“You showed up later than usual to my chambers this morning. I was beginning to wonder about when I’d hear your obnoxious morning jingles.” 

Merlin rolled his eyes. “I was a bit delayed by a delivery.” There was a smile in his voice. “Someone sent me flowers.” 

“Really! Who was it?” 

Merlin sighed and continued to undo the laces of the gauntlet and breastplate. “I haven’t the slightest clue. Because really,” and he laughed more at himself than anything else, “who would send _me_ of all people flowers?” 

Arthur turned to face him, wearing a small smile. Surely he’d figure it out sooner or later. “You’d be surprised.” 

\--

As it would turn out, Merlin _didn’t_ figure it out. Weeks passed, and his chambers kept on accruing the anonymous gifts until the room was exploding with vibrant blossoms of every shape and size, and he _still_ hadn’t the faintest idea of who they were from.

“Feels like I’ve just entered a garden,” Lancelot joked as he sat upon Merlin’s bed, inhaling the sweet, earthy scent of the countless flowers. The knights were all placing lots on the secret admirer’s identity; personally, Lancelot had just wanted to see how many plants had been sent. It was certainly more than what he was expecting. 

Honeysuckle, pansies, and peonies lined the shelf where he knew Merlin usually stored his spell books, which now lay haphazardly on the ground underneath a box of hydrangeas. Exotic flowers and thrushes of roses were crammed against the groaning cupboard. Leaves and stray stems riddled the floor, rendering the floorboards into more of a forest’s thick underbrush. 

The servant could only offer a helpless smile as he sat on the floor beside him. 

“It’s been a bit overwhelming,” Merlin admitted, hoping that Lancelot wouldn’t notice the most recent gift (a lovely bouquet of violets) by his bedstand. 

He did. 

“There’s got to be someone ‘round here we know,” Lancelot mused thoughtfully, “who’s willing to put in the time to do this every day.” He picked up the violets, a gentle smile breaking through his lips as he noted their symbolism; often, they represented faithfulness and love and were sent to suitors to show their affections. Oh, the sender was being far too obvious in their wishes. 

Merlin watched the petite petals flutter with movement, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. His voice was wistful when he murmured, “I wish I knew who the sender was.” 

Lancelot blinked. “Surely you have a clue?” 

“I thought of someone, but I don’t think he…” Merlin stopped himself short. “I mean, _they_ would ever put out such a grand gesture.” 

“Well, regardless, they must care for you an awful lot.” Merlin grinned and laughed, that bubbly one that Lancelot knew that Arthur adored. Because really, who else could it be?

He patted Merlin’s shoulder and placed the lightly colored flowers back into his hands. “Trust in your senses, old friend. I feel that this mystery person may be right under your nose.”

\--

Merlin wasn’t an idiot - not entirely, at least. 

Upon the deliveries first beginning, his primary suspect had actually been Arthur, largely in part to how his behavior had shifted over the weeks and months past; new developments were all being carefully filed in the catalog of Merlin’s brain.

For starters, Arthur had made significant efforts to seem more open with him in terms of contact, releasing soft smiles and subtly brushing their hands together when they walked. 

During meals, his gaze would linger on Merlin when he set out food and poured more mead, for much longer than necessary. During council meetings, his eyes would flick to Merlin for reassurance, and his stance would ease (this new habit also applicable to hunting trips and patrol in the evenings). Arthur’s being seemed to relax the moment his servant walked into the room, and when he spoke, the king seemed to hang onto his every word. 

He seemed to be staring at Merlin’s lips a lot, too. That was _definitely_ new.

The change wasn’t unpleasant, though, Merlin decided one night after blowing out Arthur’s candles and bidding him goodnight, to which Arthur had fixed him an unreadable gaze before softly relaying the message. 

The shift in Arthur’s behavior wasn’t attached to anything, at least not to Merlin’s knowledge; but he quite liked it, the domesticity that had begun to develop. 

There was nothing to complain about in seeing this tender, kinder side of Arthur that he’d seldom seen before (not that Merlin would ever say anything about it).

But it just seemed, overall, terribly absurd to think that Arthur could be the one to send him such bold tokens of affection. 

“Bollocks,” Merlin had mumbled to himself in his bed, staring up at the orchids he had hung on the ceiling since the bookshelves had begun to sag. They were the same shade of blue as the new scarf Arthur had gifted him days earlier, claiming that it brought out his eyes better. Coincidentally, it had been the same day that Merlin had received the orchids in reference. But.

“Can’t be him.” It was clearly just some random happening. 

Surely _Arthur_ wouldn’t send him flowers. Perhaps he seemed sweeter and looked at Merlin as if he had hung the stars, but that didn’t make it any less a ridiculous notion. Although, it wasn’t as if he’d complain if it really _did_ turn out to be Arthur. No, complaining would certainly be the _last_ thing he’d do - 

There was a rap on his door. 

Grumbling, he extricated himself from his blanket and yanked it open. “Gods, Gaius, what do you want from me n -” 

He gasped. 

Merlin stared blearily at the figure in his doorway, and blinked once just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. Then again. And then one more time. 

Arthur straightened up, smoothing out his white tunic in the small doorway. “Ah. Merlin.” 

“Arthur,” Merlin finally breathed. “Ah, um. Flowers...you’re...covered in them,” he continued in confusion. His eyes drifted from the enormous dollop of dark red carnations cradled in Arthur’s arms, to the small blue cornflowers clipped onto his shirt, and finally to the thin wildflower crown tangled in his blonde hair that made him seem more wood nymph than royalty. 

“Yes, well,” Arthur said intelligently, clearly unprepared for whatever it was he came for. “I’m, um.” He shuffled the flowers in his hands slightly, staring at his feet whilst turning a brilliant shade of red. “You see, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.” 

“Uh huh,” Merlin said, eyes flicking to the cornflowers attached to Arthur’s shirt.

“It’s really important, and I’ve been putting it off. For a while now.” 

“Probably, if you’re knocking at my door after dusk. What is, um…?” And Merlin gestured vaguely at his whole appearance again, eyes still wide. 

Arthur huffed, foot tapping against the wood. “I’m getting to that.” He met his friend’s ever puzzled gaze, heaving in an exasperated sigh. “You know all those flowers you’ve been receiving?” 

“Yes,” Merlin answered slowly. 

“Did you ever...wonder who they might’ve come from?”

There was a pause, and Merlin slid a finger thoughtfully along his chin. 

“For a while. But, erm, I didn’t really have any solid suspicions.” 

_Tell me again how I fell for the biggest idiot on the planet._

Arthur stepped forward until he was close enough to see lingering flecks of copper in his irises. 

“So you mean to tell me that you didn’t have any clue about where they’d come from? Why they kept appearing?” 

Merlin shook his head again, and his face got rapidly more lost with each second; Arthur bit his lower lip to keep from laughing.

“I mean...I suppose not,” the servant muttered. But the longer he stared at Arthur’s cornflower pendant and the carnations in Arthur’s hands, the more things were starting to come together. 

Suddenly, he realized why when he’d ramble about his growing flower collection, the king would never say a word and only smile. The passing touches, the fleeting glances, the whole transformation...

_Click._

Merlin’s eyes widened, lips parting into an ‘o’. 

“It was you,” he whispered. 

“Yes,” Arthur grinned, holding out the ribboned carnations as an offering now, face softening. “It was me.” His heart brimmed with fondness at the sight of Merlin’s fingers hesitantly taking the bundle, face shining with radiant awe as he looked between the flower’s feathery petals and his king. The Pendragon cursed himself for sending them anonymously; if he’d have known that he could’ve seen Merlin like this, all flustered and giddy and sunray smiles, he would’ve done this months earlier. 

“I…” Merlin began, ducking his head into his scarf. “I don’t know what to say.” 

Normally, Arthur would’ve said something perfectly doltish like ‘how about a thank you?’; but the way Merlin was gazing at him now, as if he were the entire world and then some, stopped him short of breath, robbing him of all those terrible lines that he had an arsenal of. 

Arthur swallowed hard, a shy sort of smile upon his lips. 

“Here,” he murmured, “d’you want to know what each flower means?” 

Merlin looked up through his lashes, wearing a small smile as he nodded. He had worked with every manner of botanical specimen before under Gaius, but he knew little of their symbolism. 

“Now these,” Arthur said, fingering the feathery carnations, “represent deep affection.” 

He pointed at the daisies sewn into the makeshift crown that Gwaine had wrestled onto his head mere minutes earlier after hollering at him to stop being such a coward. “These were courtesy of Gwaine, and they usually represent virtue and innocence.” The irony elicited a laugh from Merlin. 

Finally, Arthur pointed to the cornflower upon his vest, with its thin, spindly cobalt petals. His face turned curiously pink again. “These are cornflowers. And they...well, they’re...” Arthur placed his hands over Merlin’s, gently massaging his knuckles with the pads of his thumbs.

_Deep breaths, Arthur._

He licked his lips nervously and found himself lost in Merlin’s patient blue eyes. “They’re worn by young men in stories who believe themselves to be in love.” 

“In love?” Merlin asked softly, warmth unfurling gently in his chest. 

Arthur pulled his hands closer. “Yes.” He wore a teasing grin and looked even more a nymph than before, an unfairly gorgeous one with daisies tousled in his hair and the galaxy in his eyes, rendering Merlin a complete and utter mess. “If the feelings aren’t properly returned, the flowers will fade and die.” He cleared his throat meaningfully. “It shouldn’t be terribly difficult to figure out who I’m trying to woo.” 

“I would take a wild guess and say me, but I’m still having some trouble processing this.” Merlin breathed in and then out, hyper-aware of his front practically touching Arthur’s, how Arthur’s hands over his were a unique sort of magic all on their own. 

“I’m starting to think it’s me.” 

“You dollop-head,” Arthur murmured fondly, pressing a kiss to Merlin’s fingers. “Of _course_ it’s you.” 

And for the first time, Arthur thought that perhaps he understood. There were mysteries littered across history, enigmas that science and logic and the human mind simply couldn’t make sense of. Perhaps some things didn’t need to make sense, or could be properly explained; not everything did. 

But for a moment, Arthur thought he was starting to unravel the ever-enigmatic nature of love, because what else could suitably explain the bliss he felt with Merlin in his arms? 

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. 

**Author's Note:**

> EPILOGUE: 
> 
> Months have passed since Arthur began courting Merlin, and his cornflowers from that night have yet to fade.
> 
> (Also! Flower symbolism that correlates to flowers mentioned in the fic:  
> WHITE SNAPDRAGONS: purity, grace, good magic (laugh track)  
> HONEYSUCKLE: enduring bonds of true love  
> PANSIES: loving thoughts  
> PEONIES: bashful feelings, shyness  
> HYDRANGEAS: gratefulness, heartfelt sentiments  
> ROSES: I mean....we ALL know what roses represent lol) ((basically Arthur is expertly whipped and flower smart!))


End file.
